“A Lion In Autumn”


A Lion In Autumn

Autumn and the reddening leaves
bask in the glow of an Indian summer sun,
I run through the wind in cambric
playtime clothes,
laughter explodes upon my face,
there is a warmth,
an amber warmth that lingers
in this momentary breath
of treasured hours —

I trace the furrows upon his face,
watch infinite shades
of a tangerine sunset
as I listen to stories of the times
when the olive groves were heavy
with fruit,
the songs of lemon blossoms
plenteous as raindrops
upon the dark green leaves —

Now the lion that prowled
through emerald forests
walks in slow, ordered steps,
protruding bones define the sagging,
golden fur,
he holds my arm,
I walk with him,
he and I
no longer swept
in the quick-footed dance
of my elusive childhood —

Time stands still,
palpable as the immutable truth
that luminescent stars sparkle
eternal in the heavens,
and the warmth that lingers
on this jasmine-white day
burns like a candle,
an obstinate flame that glows
eternal in my heart,
no matter the winter,
no matter the cold.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Image: Autumn by Denizler 

“August Air”

August Air

I walk, embraced
by the icy warmth
of this late summer dusk —
aglow, the embers of the fields
are fondled by the wind,
the wind that quenched the fires
of ephemeral dandelions —

Droplets of emerald blood
trickle down the boughs,
return to their invisible roots,
imperceptibly
the leaves turn flavescent,
the cambric air is drenched in waterfalls
of honeysuckle blossoms —

I hear nostalgic songs
in the music of their fragrance.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia.org

“Sourland Mountain in July”

 Sourland Mountain by D. G. Vachal
Sourland Mountain in July

The asphalt fajita pan
sizzles,
white papal smoke ascends
from black aluminum,
scorches
naked feet,
temperatures climb, calibrated
for the appointed broiling
of flesh —

Sourland Mountain at noonday
in July:
I listen to the psalms of emerald leaves
upon twigs and branches
uplifted in praise,
the songs of the scarlet tanager,
melodious with the orchestra of Monét clouds
in this gated city of chlorophyll,
a uniform green madness —

Though I walk
through the hardness of rocks
and boulders,
I will not take this green
for granted,
I mumble on every single leaf
of fern, weed and tree,
revel
in the uncomfortable warmth,
while the green is teeming

at this very moment

before the gradual accumulated
turnings of the universe,
of sun, moon and stars
awaken
the coldness from its slumber,
before the leaves turn
into empty brown
paper bags
blown by the wind.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Photography by D. G. Vachal 2013

“Season of Warmth”

Shepherdia_argentea_(5200492782)

Season of Warmth

Entrapped—
the coldness slumbers
behind the gates of brass,
and the breath of my nostrils
kindles
the summer air —

my heart ignites into bonfires
upon the saffron
grains of sand,
my flesh is flush with the radiant
crimson of the berries —

the season of warmth
has come.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

** image by Wikimedia Commons